Fallen
by Pretty-Punk-Princess
Summary: Kyrie must come back and fight for the city that once shunned her. Can she save her adopted peoples? Can she slay the man that killed her husband or will she too fall prey to the mighty Achillies? AchilliesOC
1. Relization

Hector glanced out the window staring at the glorious Aegean Sea. They will be coming soon. Every time he thought about the imprudence of his younger bother, Paris and all of the problems he had brought upon Troy it made Hector ill. The fate of his people rested on his shoulders, the fate of his child and future children rested on the next few scrolls he would write.  
  
Ten scrolls had been written with the plea for men from their allies. All ten had been pressed with the finest wax of their country and all ten had the royal Trojan crest imprinted upon them. Yet, there were eleven scrolls that were spread in front of him. The last scroll was a plea to a warrior whom they all had forsaken two years ago.  
  
Kyrie of Mycia was a fearless warrior. The best in the world and even himself, Prince Hector could not deny Kyrie's abilities on the battlefield. Kyrie had come from lands unknown at an early age. The young warrior had trained with the princes of Troy since the age of five until fifteen. At fifteen the warrior had left the Trojan lands to seek the fortunes of the lands from whence he came.  
  
Still at the last battle that Troy had fallen under, Kyrie had shown up swords a blazing and eyes that were dead. He had slaughtered all of Troy's enemies and accepted none of Priam's praise. He looked upon the gentle king as his own father and honored him thus so. He paraded the finest Asian spices, and metals in front of the king; luxurious Slavic wolf pelts; and divine artwork from the Middle East. Kyrie's love for the brothers and gentle Andromache was never overlooked either as the solider always brought the trio blessings from the far off lands she visited for. As the fates had surmised from an early age, Kyrie's wanderlust and penchant for bloodlust drove him to be a skilled mercenary from which the higher bidder often won his services. Yet, all the money I the world could not stop the darkness that lurked around the corners.  
  
During a small skirmish along the Trojan boarder an armed resistance had flared up. Kyrie and himself had been caught between two opposing forces. Under extreme distress Hector had managed to find an exit out of the harm's way. As they fled toward the ships Kyrie had remarked that the "Snarling of wolves does not sound as good as their bloodied throats." This odd remark confused Hector as often Kyrie had never spoken much of violence. Yet, upon the ships the confrontation among the young prince and even younger Kyrie had flared up.  
  
"Oh, I see our dearest Paris has crossed the ocean to save us all," Kyrie snapped. This unexpected outburst had not sat well with the equally passionate Paris.  
  
"And I see our little bloodthirsty wolf has come back with naught, but a wound across his gapping face," he retorted back. It was at the end of that perilous sentence that Troy lost its finest solider. Kyrie lunged forward and proceeded to slice open Paris's stomach with a Japanese sych. Screaming words from whence only a siren could understand the warrior was hoisted off the bleeding Prince. Being quickly reprimanded by Hector himself, Kyrie was sentenced to the jail cell on the ship. The entire way home Kyrie sat in the dank and dark cell contemplating her fate and that of his adopted family.  
  
Upon arriving from Troy Kyrie had been sent free. The last any living Trojan saw of Kyrie was of the mercenary walking away from the gated paradise into the desert.  
  
It had not been until six moons ago that Hector had heard of Kyrie being alive.  
  
A wealthy merchant had been selling his goods in a land called Mecca when he saw a mysterious looking solider guarding the King. He described the shield of turquoise and silver to Priam, and remarked how odd the solider looked...  
  
The solider paraded around the city like he was a god. His short stature was by no means joked about as he carried his shield. It is a long rectangular one with silver and turquoise, with the most unusual marking being carved around the boarder. In the center of the shield was the crest of many royal nations, among which Troy stood out among them all as being the largest and most ornately decorated. His helmet is that of a Spartan style with more odd lettering surrounding the eye wells. The shin and forearm protectors of this warrior were in the same metal style. Except these had an unique language on them from which a bystander told me they were English and told a story. A story about a demi-god name Beowulf and a wicked creature known as Grendal...  
  
It was then the merchant prattled on about the Anglo-Saxon story that Kyrie was quite fond of.  
  
Being beckoned to the present Hector sadly shifted his eyes from the parchment in front of him to azure sky and sapphire sea. It will be soon that the treacherous Greek oars will dip into them and contaminate the beauty of our land with their blood.  
  
As still as the air was Hector could not help, but believe that where ever Kyrie was right now he was lounging playing with his son and enjoying the beauty of the sun. It was then that Hector rolled the scroll up and placed the royal seal on it.  
  
Like it or not Kyrie had to come back to the place he called home, and again deal with the sorrowing kingdom of Troy, because as the Gods would have said the war would be one by one soldier's heroism, and Kyrie was defiantly heroic, even if he, Kyrie, was a young woman. 


	2. Secrets Reveled

Okay... Hi guys just wanted to give a few pieces that may have been confusing in the last chapter. Kyrie's name sounds like (Kree-re) and she as I have stated in the last sentence is a she. Sorry if that bothered any one, but just wanted to keep the facts truthful. Now on to chapter two...  
  
The Trojan messenger had finally made his way to the small agricultural community. He was tired, out of breath, and covered in a fine layer of silt and dust from his week's journey to the town. The house in front of him was small by any standards, but well made. The walls were white washed and the roof was thatched, a small flock of goats milled around the side of the house penned in by small white pillars with fishing net strung between them. Outside of the home small footsteps could be seen in the mud which decorated an outcropping of lilies.  
  
The aromatic scent of jasmine waft through the area. As it mingled with the acidic smell of ripe barely and humus. The Arabic land of Jordan smelled as beautiful as it looked. The house was framed against the gorgeous blue sky and rolling wheat fields. The edginess the young rider had felt all week began to melt away as his gaze roamed over the beautiful and peaceful land.  
  
Not every creature seemed to be at peace with the land as the young man was. His horse, Papandrou, a fine Trojan stallion waffled about uneasily on the hot grounds.  
  
Sliding off his horse the young man approached the hut where the Trojan scroll had been ascribed to be placed. Knocking on the door the messenger boy was greeting with the sounds of a young child running to the door. Stepping off the threshold of the small thatched hut the messenger suddenly noticed how weary he was. Breathing the aromatic scent of the waves of grain that surrounded the hut he did not realize how tired he was until he woke up inside the hut.  
  
A small heart shaped face appeared in his line in his line of vision. Her skin was extremely tanned as if she labored everyday in the fields around the home. Her hair was the color of the purest white cloth, and it painted a startling look about her. The indigo eyes which sat surrounded by fine black eyes lashes gave her the look of all knowing. The young woman smiled, and offered him a bowl of steaming food. The messenger took it without hesitation. Watching the boy consume the stew with a surprising velocity, the young woman sighed quietly and took the bowl from the boy and filled it again with the hearty stew.  
  
"This is good miss. What is it," he asked between mouthfuls.  
  
"I didn't not think you would have that much energy left as hard as the ground you hit it." She smiled a brief wisp of uncertainty flashed through her eyes, "It is goat meat seasoned with thyme, and a few other seasonings." As she took the bowl from his hand and filled it a third time she repeated her question to the lad about his quick meeting with the ground. The messenger laughed, "Don't worry it is not he first time I've hit my head on the ground."  
  
She nodded her head and turned around to a roughly hewn table and plucked a bronzed goblet from it and placed it against his lips.  
  
"Here drink this. It is the finest sweet water in the region." She quietly said. He took it from her hands a greedily gulped it down as she stood watching him. "Do you feel better now boy," she questioned. He nodded his head. Smiling she plucked t bowl from his left hand and gently coerced the goblet from his right hand. "Now my dear tell me your name."  
  
Standing up the boy gave a flourished bow and announced, "My name is Ignatius, my lady."  
  
"Well then Ignatius tell me why you have journeyed so far out of your way to visit little me," she probed.  
  
He laughed and pushed him self up from the hut's walls from which he was leaned up against, "I was ordered by the great Prince Hector to bring this scroll here." As he said these few words the woman's eyes went cold and squinted quickly to the messenger's hands.  
  
"Oh and prey tell me what the majestic Prince Paris has done now Ignatius," she asked in an icy voice.  
  
"How do you know it was Paris's doing," Ignatius questioned, slightly disturbed by her sudden change in demeanor.  
  
"Because with a younger brother like Paris, it is impossible that his older brother has not become responsible for cleaning his mess up," she replied coolly.  
  
"Yes ma'am that is true, but this time it seems that he has more than his share of problems," Ignatius spoke. He would be damned to eternity if he let this woman make snide remarks about the princes.  
  
"Ah, to what dress has that young fool found himself up," She asked with a cruel pitch in her voice. Before even waiting for the boy to reply, "Go tell prince Hector that my services are no longer available to the kingdom of Troy. My pride is more that man can bargain for. He may take my counsel and contacts and throw them for the sea to swallow up."  
  
"My lady if you wish me to explain further. It is not any man the young prince has upset, rather the great king Menelaus and Agamemnon."  
  
During their conversation the young woman had found herself daintily fingering a small silver bowl. She ran her fingers over the engraved words in every heart I shall trust. From Kenos to Kyrie. But at the name of Agamemnon her head shot up, "You deceive me Ignatius."  
  
The young boy shook his head. "King Hector told me that you know the great warrior Kyrie. Is this true," he questioned with the duel flames of inquisition in his eyes.  
  
"Yes, unfortunately it is true my dear," she breathed. "Hand over that scroll my dear." Giving her the scrolling and with hands shaking Kyrie read the parchment and all that was enclosed within it. Knowing better than to break the news to her six year old she closed her eyes and held the tears threatening to overtake her. She turned to Ignatius, "Dear boy go fetch my horse from the stables outside the barley fields. Ride him to the Northwest and find the old man living in the next field over. Give him my horse. He will understand the meaning of this."  
  
The messenger twisted around and walked out of the dimly lit hut. With a final step out of the home and into the fresh air he peered over his shoulder to look at the woman fingering the scroll with great care. He hopped on to his horse and rode of the stable with urgency nipping at his heels. Watching the form of Ignatius grow smaller and smaller she spun around and headed for her son's room.  
  
Glancing in, she observed her son playing with his carved figurines. The young boy was six and had the pale eyes of his mother, but a dark shock of golden hair flowed from the crown of his head. He was a tall child nearly brushing his mothers elbow at the tender age he was at. Knowing deep within her heart that her son Taxiarchi would grow up to be just like his parents she wept silently. A fierce warrior with the love for his own people and with the fist of iron, however, he would never find the solace that both of his parents tried so hard to give him.  
  
"Honey," She spoke. As soon as she spoke the words she regretted it. For those beautiful eyes turned towards her.  
  
"What mommy" the young boy inquired.  
  
"Mommy has to go back to where she came from," Kyrie said in a flat voice. By knowledge Taxiarchi understood this was a serious matter that was not to be taken lightly.  
  
The boy cocked his head at an odd angel, "Is it going to be like I was four and you left for a long time and when you came back you were sad."  
  
Faltering she chose her words carefully, "It will be something like that. Only this time I am going to bring that man that cursed daddy to justice."  
  
Taxiarchi closed his eyes and sucked in a breathe of air. It was as if time had stood still and all that remained in the world was Kyrie and her son. "You will come back mommy, but this time you will bring some one with you and he will have more blood on his hands that you have ever seen."  
  
This statement shook Kyrie to the core. She knew her son was a seer, but this was just unbelievable. I hope he is not true. I can not bring anyone else with war on their soul here. "Didos will take care of you while I am gone."  
  
The little boy said no more, but turned his back towards his mother. The fierce love between mother and son was seldom understood. What few words they spoke meant a lot to both of them.  
  
As her conversation with her son was done she walked out to the granary. Shuffling through the grain and chickens she located a darkly polished box. Lifting the box and thin layer of dust wafted through the air. Peering into the contents of the box Kyrie pulled out the three and a half feet tall Persian shield, her Spartan helmet with Chinese lettering. The English engraved shin guards and forearm guards, the lavishly decorated Persian breastplate was slightly tarnished, but it was nothing that polishing could not handle, the seven foot long javelins with obsidian tips, and finally a Japanese samurai sword with a slit in it. The slit was particularly useful for forcing enemy blades through and while the opponent was holding their sword in a quick flash break their wrist.  
  
Taking the time to carefully done the armor over a coal grey tunic, Kyrie took time to take in the situation. The bastard is back and this time I will force him to pray to the gods that he had blessed Kenos' grave instead of spitting on it.  
  
The whinnying of horses' assaulted her ears as Ignatius had pulled up. Walking out of the granary Ignatius immediately saw the legendary warrior Kyrie.  
  
Extending her hand up to Didos she nodded at him, "Taxiarchi is in his room. Let him not fret over the life of the man I am about to kill." Escorting the old man to her hut she gave him the money needed to keep her household functioning and left him with the boy.  
  
As Kyrie mounted the horse Ignatius began to ask,"Where is the woman from the house?"  
  
To which the only thing Kyrie replied was to puller helmet off and give the boy and look at who the great warrior was. "I trust this is safe with you." Before he could even answer she had spurred her horse into action and speed out over the rolling lands of Jordon. 


	3. Dancing With a Giant

Kyrie had arrived at the Trojan beachfront just as the warning bells had sounded. Startled by the sound Kyrie urged on her horse. Rounded the sacred temple of Apollo she saw the ships. _Hundreds of ships, all on their way to Troy_. A deep upwelling occurred in her throat, a strain of tears pricked through her eyes. The imminent danger Troy was in had never occurred to her before. Now it seemed as if the wolves were slowly inching up on the flock, and it was up to her to keep them at bay.  
  
"Ignatius call Prince Hector and tell him I am here," she bellowed. She watched the young boy's eyes turn upward to the Trojan walls. He quickly shot his eyes back to Kyrie and blinked his eyes.  
  
"Yes," Ignatius bowed and turned his horse. Watching the white horse kick up the sand behind him, Kyrie quickly moved her head toward the waterfront. A mysterious ship with black sails was approaching _How odd is that, _she thought. _Agamemnon is a man of skilled treachery, he would never send one ship in front of the others._ The ship slowly grew bigger and more dangerous with every oar dipped into the Aegean Sea.  
  
"Kyrie," a rich voice suddenly called out, "You have answered my call." Without even looking Kyrie smiled. The deep musk scent of sweat and lilac called to Kyrie as Prince Hector rode up behind her.  
  
"I always have my brother," she replied. "Are you ready for the battle of your life?"  
  
"In deed my sister. In deed I am ready," he spoke. Hector's voice wavered slightly.  
  
"You fear for your men," she stated. Knowing his reply to her query Kyrie continued on, "and that my dear brother is what makes us different from them." Pointing her chin to the Greek ships that covered the ocean, "Even though the last time I fought with a group of men they despised me it still seemed only natural to care for them all."  
  
Hector nodded, "I have wished that you would have come home sooner Kyrie." To the only reply to whence she gave was a huff.  
  
"I would have if only your dear Paris had not worn out my welcome years ago," she quipped. Hector said only nothing only that his gaze swept across the ocean.  
  
"No matter where you are, you are a Trojan, Kyrie, your place here was never given away," Hector muttered.  
  
With those final words the first Greek ship made its way on the Trojan beach front. The men jumped out of the boat only to be cut down by the finest archers in the world. In a futile attempt the men continued to pour out of the boat, many men's throats were slit and their blood turned the white sands of the beach a rusty brown. It appeared as if the war of ages would turn out to be the war of the day. Alas, as this could not be the truth.  
  
Suddenly they formed a sort of barrier with their shields. "Shit they are protected," she whispered to herself. "Hector call the horsemen!" She urged her horse on through the thick of Trojan bodies. She could feel the morale of the men around her. She could smell the run of blood through the sand. "For Troy," she cried with exuberance. The sound reverberated through her ears as she pulled her sword from its sheath.  
  
Slicing her way through a rather large man she cam across a Trojan with a large gash to his side. "Solider are you okay," she yelled through the din of war. He looked up to her with young eyes. Swinging her leg over the horse she came down next to the boy. The rather large and clunky helmet the boy wore obsured his face, pulling it off the boy it revealed the face of a young man not more than sixteen summers old. His eyes where lucid enough for Kyrie to understand that he would live, but only if he was allowed to gain entrance back to the city, "Take my horse and go to the city." She grabbed the youth by his upper arm and pushed him onto her horse.  
  
"I must fight for Troy," the boy whispered meekly to her. Understanding his mentality Kyrie wracked her mind for a solution to the issue.  
  
"You are better alive and weak as an archer then dead as those Greek bodies in the sand. Take my horse to the city and pray to the gods that this will be over soon," she whispered. The boy looked at the armor she was wearing and believing what she said to be truth she pushed him onto the horse.  
  
Taking the reins from Kyrie's hands he bent down and yelled,"You speak of the gods as if they are one of us. You honor our gods and yet you are not of Troy. So I will be brief in my notice, oh Great Kyrie the royalty of Troy resides in the house of Apollo." The young boy took off after that message, gripping his sides in pain.  
  
Knowing the meaning of the boy's cryptic message she was spurred onward towards the temple of Apollo. Alas, a rather large man stood between Kyrie and the easiest path to the temple.  
  
"Now what do we have here," the giant laughed. "You are small by the standards of Trojan warriors." The joke meant to be abrasive,yet it only made the female warrior smile.  
  
"Ah, yes, but the best surprises come in the smallest of packages," she yelled. Before he could reply to the comeback Kyrie had danced around the giant known as Ajax and sliced his ear off. "By the gods I have better things to do with my time than trade comebacks with a giant like you. My men will find it fun to finish you off." And with that she smirked and twirled around the pained titan and pranced toward the Temple of Apollo.


	4. Mighty Achilles

Kyrie was not going to take her time languidly getting to the Temple of the Sun God. Apollo's servants were in danger. Running full speed across the hot sands of Troy was made even more difficult by the mass of swirling bodies that surrounded her. The crashes and din of battle were naught but mere background noise to the famed warrior of Troy.

With in sight of the temple of Apollo a sight grasped her. The temple priests had been slain. Their slumped over forms littered the once pristine white marble of the temple. The marble aforementioned was now stained with the crimson blood of the pure and good hearted men. Feeling an overwhelming sob erupt from her throat a sound tore out of her mouth. "NO," she screamed.

The temple echoed back a startling silence as the word bounced off the chiseled columns. Taking note of the three bodies slain she became aware that the temple virgins were not among those slain.

_Briseis_ "Briseis were are you," Kyrie called out. A quick gasp and a shuffling of feet was at an immediate right of Kyrie. The cousin of Hector and Paris stepped out from behind a column.

"Kyrie is that you," she called out.

"Yes Bri, how'd you…" breaking off the sentence the well seasoned mercenary opened her arms to the younger woman. The girl rushed into the embrace. sobbing into the mercenary's hair it was obvious to Kyrie that the young girl had seen more blood that she could ever phantom. "Come little one lets get you out of her."

Holding hands with Briseis they attempted to make their exit from the temple out of a back entrance, but to not luck. There was a Greek blocking the way… "Bri hold this," Practically tossing the shield to the girl, "Stay at my back and do not drop that shield for any reason until I say so."

The temple priestess shakily held up the shield. "Hurry Kyrie this shield is heavy."

"Working on it Briseis," She gasped out loud as she took a swing at the Greek. Blocking the man's parry she said, "I don't have time for this." Holding up her sword the swung it at the Greek's head catching him off guard, slicing off a good chunk of this scalp she then proceeded to kick him in the balls. Hustling out side she brought her fingers up her lips.

_A piercing whistle sliced across the landscape, at the edge of the battlefield a lone stallion stood above the fray. Hearing his mistress' call he leapt into a frenzy and plunged himself through the thick of the battling humans. Rearing up in front a Greek man he brought his hoofs down on the man's head effectively crushing the man's skull. Leaping through the humans it came to stand dutifully beside its master._

"Anatole bring Briseis home!" Giving a boost to her friend on to the top of the horse's body she then retrieved her shield from the shaking priestess' hands. "See ya soon kiddo!" Kyrie winked. A brief smile floated onto Briseis' lips before she jerked forward and wound her hands into Anatole's mane.

Glancing around her, she saw that the battle was a losing one for her homeland. Fury rose up inside her. It was not until she heard a metal clang, did she focus her rage on one particular Greek, Achilles.

He was standing proud with the golden head of Apollo at his feet. Even with the statue being only metal she felt the anger begin to shake her arm. _How dare this whelp destroy a god's image_. Sheathing her weapon of choice she swung out her second favorite weapon a Trojan bow and Persian arrows.

Loading one she focused the arrow within the warrior sights. Letting it loose it was not until the moment afterward did she realize that the bow was tilted to low. The arrow sung through the area and behold it was true. It nestled itself into the proud warrior Achilles thigh. His cry of surprise brought the entire battle field to a stand still.

The mighty Achilles had been wounded. Snapping off the shaft of the arrow the warrior took a hesitant step forward and then righting himself he began to charge at Kyrie. Ready for the stumbling Greek she brought out her own sword fighting back and forth the two warriors were at it. Blocking one blow from Achilles opened Kyrie up to a top wards swing.

"Ready to die Trojan," he yelled at Kyrie. Spinning around him she slide the slit inside her sword through Achilles short sword. Quickly moving her wrist his sword went flying to the right and disappeared into the sand.

Smirking she said, "Too bad, Greek and today would've been such a nice day to die." The smirk didn't last long as his arm shot out and his massive hand wrapped around her delicate throat.

Closing his grip around the warrior's neck Achilles could not help but think _the skin is so smooth and soft. Like a woman's skin._ His grip tightened and he began to watch the soldier's eyes roll up into its socket. Feeling the body in his grasp go limp he wondered _What a pathetic warrior passed out so easily_ Letting his grip loosened he was instantly surprised when the warrior sprung instantly back to life and kicked upward catching his chin.

The force of the kick sent the demi god sprawling backwards. Adjusting the helmet the warrior smiled "So sad…" picking her sword up from the ground she was met with yet another Greek solider this time the giant was back and very much the angrier.

"Well, Well giant seems you don't stop coming do you?" Raising her sword she was about to duel with him as a clear voice rang across the beaches of Troy.

"Enough! Today's battle has been enough bloodshed." Stepping back from the giant Kyrie the warrior warily watched the giant as Hector called the battle off. Listening to her brother babble on she anxiously watched the giant.

"Come little sister time to wash our wounds and sleep." Glancing up Hector was holding out his hand. Grasping it tightly she swung her self up onto the back of the horse he was riding.

"Little sister," the giant asked.

Smiling Kyrie whipped her helmet off. "Gentlemen of Greece meet the world's most prolific mercenary, Kyrie of Troy." Laughing Hector spurred his horse towards the gates of Troy leaving the Grecian army dumbfounded with the newest bit of information.


End file.
